


Things we don't say don't die, they kill us.

by Lilyvillaf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10090688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilyvillaf/pseuds/Lilyvillaf
Summary: John Watson spent two years thinking on what he would have said to Sherlock before he jumped if he have had the chance, but now that Sherlock is back, he feels it is better if those conversations he wrote and curated in his mind and in paper are best left unsaid...





	1. Broken hearts and teary eyes...

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! 
> 
> This is my first work, please be kind but also honest!
> 
> It takes place after the end of Season 2 and in an AU from Season 3.
> 
> It hasn't been Brit proofed.
> 
> L.

~~Dearest Sherlock,~~

"Fuck!" John though to himself. How am I supposed to begin to write this? I know I need to say this but I should be saying it to his face, he should be here, not... gone. -Sigh!

"I guess I better write to the wind hoping that wherever he is he can listen, he deserves to know how loved he is"

Dearest Sherlock,

It is physically impossible for me to stop thinking about you, this is so foreign to me, thinking about you and then not thinking about anything; thinking that you will walk through that door and yet knowing you never will again; making plans in my head with you while fully well knowing that it is no longer a possibility. Is this hope? Or simply part of the familiarity we shared in our years together? 

I cannot stop thinking on what might have been, if only... if only I would have been brave. I would have given everything to make you happy. I keep planning and thinking of the trips we would have made, every single experience we could have shared, in the simple day to day. Why did you have to jump? Why did you have to leave me behind?

I can recall the exact 30 times I almost told you, 12 of them when I was sure I was about to lose you, 7 times when I felt you were slipping through my fingers; I told you a thousand times how scared I was for you, but you never listened. I am well aware that this was your decision and your decision alone, but how couldn't you tell? You saw no other choice, you couldn't or perhaps even didn't want to fight.

If only knowing changing my feelings for you would bring you back, I would. There's nothing I wouldn't do to bring you back, but also, how can I stop loving you? How would I hide this love? I am giving myself the chance not to think, cause if I do I will cry and be paralyzed by pain and as much as I love you, paralysis is a luxury I cannot afford. Life needs to go on, I just don't know how. I wished your life carried on.

The past month has gone by in the blink of an eye, and perhaps that is a good thing. I'd like to think the universe listened to my prayers and days are shorter, uneventful and I am still here, quiet, mostly keeping to myself, I think for the moment that is all I can aspire to offer.

I will figure out a way to survive this, if this last month is any indication, it will be achieved by not thinking and avoiding feeling anything as much as possible. What is worst, Sherlock? To feel so much that the world stops and oxygen is sucked off my lungs without you? or not knowing if I am actually healing by not feeling anything?

You are missed, you are loved.

John.

 

 


	2. No silver linings...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the Kudos to everyone. I am currently on my bedroom floor (which is the place I am most comfortable writing), reading old journals and wrecking my brain for ideas. I really hope you like this; if anyone would like to beta this, please inbox me. 
> 
> The first 4 chapters will be John writing letters and mostly talking to himself in an attempt to come to terms with Sherlock's absence in his life. 
> 
> I am hoping to write Chapters 3 and 4 this week and begin with the interesting part of this story on Monday March 13th. 
> 
> Please fell free to leave your comments,
> 
> L.

6 months later…

 

John had barely slept in months as the nightmares made it difficult to sleep; he could still see Sherlock jumping from the roof several times a night. He started avoiding sleeping and focused on taking naps throughout the day, always the right amount of time to avoid dreams and nightmares; his brain was always working, “This is what he must have felt” John though to himself several times. How was it possible that only now, in Sherlock’s absence he was able to understand his friend? He shook his head every time and it was time to start the grieving process again, to cry as that first night, alone in Baker Street. 

Though he was getting used to the easy routine he had created for himself, John woke up in the middle of the night on the sixth month anniversary of Sherlock’s passing, feeling angry and chuckling to himself, he wondered out loud “Stage number what of the grieving process?”

He tried to focus on sleeping, using the techniques his therapist had provided him with; at least this new therapist had focused on getting John to perform simple tasks like sleeping and eating at given times instead of making him talk about his grief and the unspoken feelings he had for his departed friend. John was thankful for that. Realizing trying to go back to sleep was a futile effort, he decided to write another letter. 

  
~~Dearest~~  Sherlock,

I am sad, upset, heartbroken and tired, really tired. 

Even after six months I cannot understand why you did what you did, why you said the things you said, why you decided to leave. 

You left me.

I’ve tried to put myself in your place, to be understanding of your decision, but it has only backfired. I have realized that I never expected you to stay only because we had a long story, in fact, I always wondered when you where leaving  ~~me~~ , but I never expected you to do it permanently. In all honesty, there are times when I still feel you, not near, but your energy is all around me, I think I should leave Baker Street if I really want to start healing. I have not healed, if anything, it has gotten increasingly worst. 

I wanted to write the next chapter of my life with you, but I only knew after it was too late. I only knew I can’t fathom life without you after I saw you lying on the floor, when it was no longer a possibility or a choice, but my new reality. 

Pain presents itself differently during the day. Some moments are better than other and some are worst. There is no right way to mourn as there are so many factors to consider and that affects the process, doesn’t it Sherlock? God, it all sounds so clinical but right now, I don’t dare to thread into pain in a way that’s emotional and not purely logical. After all, “Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side”, isn't it?.

What haunts me the most is what you said, why did you confess to being a fraud when it was a lie? What would compel you to prove Moriarty right when all evidence is pointing to the fact that Moriarty is in fact a criminal and he fabricated all accusations against you? It’s hard to reconcile so many words with your actions. Sorry, I am being repetitive, but you are not here to stop me. I am tired of trying to understand, tired of missing you, tired of forgiving you.

I am also really scared because I don’t know how much I can take, because I don’t know if this the end, the end of my pain. I can’t go on like this, you kept things from me and it is useless to pretend that I didn’t notice, you destroyed me, you cock! I don’t believe you are a lie but I also don’t believe in you. Whatever reason you kept from me only makes sense so many times,  ~~are~~  were you even remorseful? 

I am only existing right now and for the time being that is enough. How I wish I could fast forward to months from now, when pain has subsided, but I believe I need to live this process and mourn; the need to cry is in our very human nature, but when you keep recycling the feeling, your soul remains unwashed and I must cry, to reminisce without resentment, to forgive slowly.

There’s no deep insight, no inspirational and witty quote to mention, just a broken heart and the overwhelming need to heal and meet the new me born out of all this.

Please wherever you are, let me go, because I’ve already lost you, because you’re already gone. 

I hate you.

John.

John put down the pen and wondered why he chose to write this down instead of typing, Writing is a more personal form of communication, no edits, you write the truth, and if you don’t like something you can only strike it but it will always be there, in letters we speak the truth no matter how painful it is. 

John took  look at his flat. HIS flat -- no longer Sherlock’s -- and he could only sigh before reaching for his laptop and roam the internet for a new living arrangement.


	3. Healing is a long road...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 more letter type chapter before our hero returns...
> 
> I have decided I will be posting on Mondays and Wednesdays. 
> 
> Thank for the kudos.
> 
> L.

1 month later.

Sherlock.

Tonight is my last night on Baker Street.

Our story was brief, but not perfect nor easy, damnit! Can it be classified as a story? I will never know, it is though, amazing, rewarding and unique with all its twists and turns. I would change the outcome, but I have my own story to write, stories that I am hoping are amazing. 

I have made peace with the fact that what happened is beyond my control. You broke your promises and it still wouldn’t matter if you were here. Consider this a testament of my love for you that I would have forgiven you if you have chosen to stay, but again, it was never in my control. 

Tomorrow, I start the new chapter of my life, or it could be said: a whole new book. 

After being discharged from the Army, I had little to nothing to live for but you gave it new meaning, YOU changed the course of my life and I hope that I gave you something in return. Falling in love with you was inevitable, if I was a little more poetic I’d even say it was meant to be. I never had a story worth writing, then there was you. Thank you as for the briefest of times, I knew joy and adventure beyond my wildest dreams. I can and will carry on because you made me this person, even when you ultimately destroyed me. 

I loved and will always love the fact that we understood more of this world together; right now it is unfathomable to even think of that happening again with anyone else and even if it doesn’t, I already had that in this life while most people in this life never get to. I wished everybody did. 

I still love you, I still miss you and I wish I could have told you all those times I had the chance but didn’t, out of fear. Fear. Such a funny little world, yet it ends relationships and endeavors before they start and separates people, feelings and ideas that could have otherwise changed the world; fear changes history everyday and we still don’t overcome it, we still let it run our lives. I am letting you go, but it doesn’t mean I need to forget you, but I need to move on in life and from Baker Street to salvage whatever is left of me. People make choices and we must respect them regardless of how difficult it is for the people left behind to deal with them. I owe it to myself and our brief time together, not let your absence destroy me. I’ll deal with the consequences of many years of bad decisions, but never for a second think that I regret any aspect of us. 

Thank you for always being you and allowing myself to be just me, you have no idea how freeing was to be accepted despite my flaws. Thank you for everything you did without noticing, without knowing. 

Your absence permeates every aspect of my life, your influence is palpable and if anyone dared to look close enough, my pain and how broken down I am will be evident and painful to witness. That I know. How nobody else hears my cries is both a success and a great failure. Please, give me some time to heal, part of me wants to know this is not a state you’d like to see me in. I have begun to, though, as I’ll say goodbye to the confines of our shared life that bore witness to our sad and unrequited love story. 

Forgetting is inevitable and I might forget the little things, like your smell and how you liked your tea but part of you will always live in me.

We were both wrong, you for leaving and me for thinking we would have more time. 

I welcome the end of your story, Sherlock. It’s time. It is ok.

John.


	4. Phoenix from the flames...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I be adding Chapter's summaries? Please comment.
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger (if anyone is actually enjoying but above all, reading this). I just told my BFF I am a bit too giddy writing this and wanted a cliffhanger because... reasons and suddenly I know how Moftiss feel. I think she's not going to be too happy with me tomorrow.
> 
> BTW - As from next chapter I will start adding the appropriate tags? warnings? I am still new at all this so please give me sometime to get into the mechanics of fan fiction tags/warnings/meanings.
> 
> Some fluff and definitely some smut is coming but I am going to make them wait a bit, but not too much. 
> 
> P.S. The chapter title is in honor of my fave Robbie Williams' song (yes! a Mexican RW fan)  
> P.S.2 Should you find any typo/grammatical mistakes, you can blame my Mac and the fact that English is my second language. (Feel free to point out typos)  
>    
> L.

John Watson had managed to keep his thoughts of his departed flatmate at bay. At least most days. 

His friend had been exonerated of all charges a month before; NSY was able to prove his innocence, only two years late. He and Lestrade met often but John still had trouble even to the mention of Anderson and Donovan and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. Anderson was the most remorseful and had tried to reach out to John to apologize, but john was having none of it. He hated them but Donovan in particular. She was the freak, the bully, the true evil, not Sherlock. Eventually, both of them stopped trying to greet and even talk to John. It was for the best. 

Moving out of Baker Street 18 months ago had allowed him time to breathe, to mourn without constant reminders of what and who he had lost. But if he was honest, there was not a single day in which he didn’t cross his mind, his thoughts and haunted his dreams. Sometimes he could swear he was near; his presence lingering in every corner of London, the city he loved most. 

His flat was quiet, small and gray as one can imagine, he would joke to himself that he was going for the minimalist vibe, when in reality, no place felt like home anymore. Not London, not Baker Street, not the goddamned world. He was in a world that was foreign, or maybe he was the foreigner to the world. Why bother decorating if he was just passing by? 

Far from the center and excitement of the London where there was no Mrs Hudson, no clients, no crimes to solve and most of all, no Sherlock; John drank tea and it was a quiet Wednesday morning when there was a knock on the door of his small flat, there was something familiar about it; something that made John’s stomach turn as he slowly approached the door. He took a deep breath when he realized who was on the other side. “Mycroft”, John said with all the iciness he could muster. 

“May I come in Doctor Watson?” said Mycroft and John rolled his eyes and took a few steps inside his flat just making a hand gesture for Mycroft to come in. 

“May I sit down Doctor Watson?” said Mycroft. John have had enough of him in just 2 sentences. “Look Mycroft”, John quipped and took a deep breath before he continued, “I don’t know why you are here and I went to great lengths to keep my location private and on a need to know basis for the people I care about. YOU. ARE. NOT. ONE. OF. THEM. Whatever is the reason behind his annoying and frankly pointless visit is yours and yours…”

“He is alive, John” said Mycroft as John’s world came crashing down. He fell to the floor, losing his ability to stand, to think, to breathe, to exist. How can someone alter your whole existence twice, by dying, by being alive? What kind of twisted game was this? Did he hear Mycroft correctly? It couldn’t be, could it? 

Mycroft tried to help John stand up but John refused his help and he lay on the floor for a long time. Mycroft let a long time pass before speaking again. “Doctor Watson. John, please say something, I am afraid you’ve gone catatonic. At least nod if you understood what I just told you”. Mycroft was unusually emotional and caring in his tone. John could only nod, the world was shifting, again. He closed his eyes and relived the scene in the roof of St. Bart's. Sherlock jumping. John's world ending. “What did I miss?” John thought to himself over and over. 

“Mycroft, I think you should leave” John said as he rose slowly from the floor in shaky legs, a foggy brain and a messy life all over again. 

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but he just nodded and agreed. “John, you have my number, please call when you have had the time to… to…” Mycroft let a deep sigh before he continued. “When you have had the time to get over the original shock that this information provided” The iceman was back.

John slammed the door and fell to the ground again. In the blink of an eye his flat was darker, had it gone cloudy suddenly? No. John felt his body sore when he tried to move, what time was it? Like it mattered. Like anything mattered. Sherlock was alive. Sherlock… alive. The weight of this hitting him again like a wave against a wall. Like a wrecking ball against that same wall, all at once. And he was the wall. 

John went to bed, not thinking much but thinking everything at the same time. These last two years had been incredibly hard. He had to rearrange his life because Sherlock was dead, but he wasn’t, it had all been a lie, but WHY? “WHY SHERLOCK?” John would ask himself out loud and reaching for his phone several times to call Mycroft, to demand an explanation. Sleep caught up with him in a nightmare riddled night.

Morning brought no comfort, no change, no nothing. All clarity John hoped would come in the morning was non existent. Nothing would erase the tears he shed or the years spent. Questions filled john’s mind. He tried making tea but burned his hand in the process. Why haven’t Sherlock contacted him? Was he injured? Oh god. no! “Please don’t let him be hurt” John said. 

John spent the next three days in a haze, going to work and avoiding his phone at all costs, but Mycroft wasn’t going to give up that easily, once John stopped taking his calls he resorted to call John’s office constantly; at the third day the calls stopped; John knew this was not the end of it but it was a welcome break. That was until a black car waited outside John’s flat as he was walking back from work. 

A driver stepped out of the vehicle and open the back door for John.

John was angry but got in anyway, cursing loudly at Mycroft: “Mycroft, you so…” 

Except it wasn’t Mycroft in the back seat of the car.


	5. There will be something solid for you to step on or you will learn how to fly…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I was looking forward to write a long chapter, but things in life happen and I am dealing with a broken heart. I hope this doesn't make you like this any less, I'd like you guys to keep reading because I am pouring my heart in here.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks. 
> 
> No witty reference to this chapter's title, I am doing the best I can, that's all.
> 
> L.

John was not even all the way in the back of the car when he was almost out again.

“Please don’t leave”, Said Sherlock with a pleading look on his face. John didn’t listen, stepping out of the car as fast as he could and fumbling with his keys, this was no way to present yourself after being “dead” for two years, this was no way to treat your best friend. John heard the car door open and close while he was still trying to unlock his own door, he couldn’t do this, not right now; he wanted to have time to prepare but he had barely assimilated the news when he felt his not dead friend approaching him, slowly, hesitantly.

“Bloody door, stupid keys, stupid asshole, you were dead. DEAD” said John aloud as he felt his friend’s hand touching his shoulder and he recoiled from it, Sherlock’s touching gesture burned John’s skin. “John, you have to understand, it was necessary for me to fake my own dead. You may not believe my reason are good enough but I couldn’t lose…” Sherlock stopped, what was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t bare the thought of losing him, his best friend? for reasons that were beyond his limited understanding of human interactions? That even after two years and despite his best efforts and the distance, the need to be near John was consuming him and burning brighter than before? How you do voice that? How can anyone understand such a desperate but silent plea? What was this? 

Sherlock couldn’t continue. There are some things that cannot be explained. Heartache as much as we discuss it, can only be felt and only time teaches us to bear it. John finally found his key but he was hesitant on turning it; he was angry, upset but also relieved, Sherlock wasn’t gone. He was here alive and he wanted to explain everything to John. 

"Sherlock, I… I, I honestly don’t know what to say; there is no point in lying and saying that I am not happy that you are not dead, but how does that change anything? It took me a great deal of time to come to terms with the fact that you had important reasons to jump only to now find out that you may have not even jumped? This feels like an out of body experience and all I can say is that I do not know what to say and for the moment and all things considered, that’s ok, that’s enough for today” said John without turning around and finally turning the key, feeling betrayed. 

Why was it so important to Sherlock now, why wasn’t it important to him two years ago, John could have been in on the secret, he would have protected Sherlock’s whereabouts at all cost. John opened the door but didn’t step in. Did he want to hear what Sherlock had to say? Was any excuse or reason Sherlock could provide be the key to help John understand?

Sherlock’s reply was “Yes, of course, John”, his voice small and full of sadness. “We’ll talk, Sherlock just not now” John said before closing the door behind him. 

John’s flat as gray as it may have seemed early that day was suddenly different, it has never felt like home to him but it was in some ways brighter, less depressing, John even had a certain spring in his step as the climbed the stairs, humming a tune to himself as he prepared his dinner and made some tea. John was happy again.

Sherlock stepped back into the car and headed to Baker Street, John didn’t say he wanted to work with him again, hell, he didn’t even say if he wanted Sherlock in his life again, but they would talk at least once more and the feeling that filled Sherlock in that moment was enough to make the detective smile and… what was this feeling? Hope? 

Mycroft had spoken to Mrs. Hudson a few days after speaking to John so it was no surprise to her when she heard Sherlock’s footsteps coming up the stairs; she was waiting for him, tea in hand and she allowed him to have the conversation John didn’t let them have. Sherlock was shocked to see the tears fall from Mrs. Hudson’s face, why was anybody so surprised to find out that he needed them alive? He cared about them, surely they must have known, sure, sentiment is a defect found on the losing side but it didn’t mean he didn’t care. 

Mrs. Hudson was happy to have the man she loves like a son back, but she could tell there was still a palpable emptiness in Sherlock’s smile. “He’ll come around, Sherlock, he needs time to process this and once you explain to him, he’ll forgive you and you’ll be back in each other’s lives” Sherlock smiled a shy smile, he certainly hoped so.

That first night back at Baker Street was difficult for Sherlock; he was suddenly drained, like if all the sleepless nights in the last two years have caught up with him and as soon as Mrs. Hudson left, he went to his room to rest. He had only been sleeping for an hour when the nightmare started. It was a familiar scene: St. Bart’s; he had his phone in his hand and people where gathering around him and pointing up, to the roof, his stomach sunk, it was John now in that roof and he didn’t dare to keep looking up and clutched to his phone as if holding on to life, he began running in his dream but St. Bart’s only kept getting farther and farther. His phone rang and the fear of that moment awoke him. What have he done to his best friend? Why was it so important? Had his phone really rang?

Sherlock could’t sleep the rest of the night, afraid of dreaming the same thing again, so he withdrew to his mind palace. 

Contrary to Sherlock, John had a restful night, where he dreamt he was back on Baker Street sitting next to his flatmate, solving crimes, spending their days together, yet he woke up in the middle of the night but unlike all the dreams he had about his best friend in the last two years, he didn’t wake up sweating or on the verge of tears; no, he was nervous and happy and… hopeful. In many ways John was ready to listen to Sherlock but he knew deep down, he was not ready to do any of the things he dreamt, he was only willing and wanting to listen.

John decided to text Sherlock in the middle of the night, he was sure Sherlock would be awake and thanks to Mycroft, he’d still have his old phone number which -unsurprisingly - was still saved in John’s phone. He typed the message several times before settling on:

_**Let’s talk - JW** _

It surprised John, that Sherlock’s reply didn’t come immediately and then he remembered that two years have gone by, maybe Sherlock now slept through the night or worst, he didn’t have the same number which made John feel grateful that he had decided against writing that snarky message he typed and then deleted.

Sherlock’s reply came a few minutes later:  ** _Thank you, John, it does mean a lot. Should I drop by your flat? - SH_**  


**_Yes. - JW_ **

John let out a sigh and put his phone down as he went to the loo, in a few short hours he would see his best friend again, it was still too early to get ready for work and the anticipation would not let him go back to sleep so he decided to made some tea. He took a quick shower while the water boiled. He would never admit this to Sherlock but this was the first time in years that he was looking forward to work, to the day, to life. 

John was humming again when he finished putting pants and a tee on after his shower, ready to drink his tea, mentally planning the things he wanted to ask Sherlock. Where to start? What to ask? Sure the right place to being was with "Why?", wasn’t it? John didn’t make to make an actual list but he didn’t want to leave anything out, he stood up to grab a pen when there was a knock on the door. It was still 4 am, wasn’t? “who could…” John asked himself when the realization of who was on the other side of the door came to him. He whispered his friend’s name softly under his breath.

John stood frozen for a second wondering what would have possessed Sherlock to interpret his reply as a 4 am invitation. John could’t help but smooth his clothes, take a deep breath and smiled, this was in pure Sherlock fashion, careless about social norms, time and people...


	6. You can run but you cannot hide...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone reading: My sincerest apologies. Life has a funny way of complicating things, with the switch to Daylight Savings Time and work I barely had time to write this. 
> 
> Some fluff here and more coming our way.
> 
> I have decided to switch the posting days to Tuesdays and Thursday which are the days I am most certain to have time off to write. Worry not, though, I have the plot sort of mapped out and things seem to be flowing in the right direction.
> 
> L.

John felt his legs betraying him as he walked to the door. 1, 2, 3, 4 steps. He then held the door knob tightly before taking a deep breath. He was startled by a second knock on the door. 

“John, I can hear you behind the door” Said Sherlock with an exasperated but pleading tone. John slowly turned the know and he felt the weight of the world crashing on him as he came face to face with his very alive friend.

Sherlock smiled before asking “May I come in?” to which John replied with a nod and a hand gesture for him to come inside. John closed the door and again, with a hand gesture offered Sherlock a seat.

“John” Began Sherlock, with very little clue of what he’d say; he had rehearsed this conversation thousands of times, he wanted to express in the simplest of forms the reasons that drove him to fake his own dead, but that foreign feeling of need and concern was still there, lingering, forcing him to re-evaluate every scenario he had devised. He had no choice, he could only try and explain the facts and the confusion that came, grew and cemented in his life for the past two years. “John, I am sorry. There is no good way to explain the reasons why I did what I did without telling you facts and data. Chalk it up to misanthropy, blame my lack of cues on social norms to think that not telling you was my one and only option. I should have told you, I should have known that this was going to hurt you in ways that I have no desire or the strength to think about” Sherlock took a deep breath and took a minute to gather his thoughts as we examined John; John, tired, trustworthy, friendly, perfect John, who was now holding the arm rest of the sofa, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. “Are you hurt?” Sherlock asked wondering why his friend was suddenly the embodiment of pain.

Said John with his eyes still shut, “Not physically” and Sherlock was suddenly hit with all of John’s empathy in the most painful of realizations. “And it is my fault” said Sherlock in a small and ashamed voice. Sherlock continued, “John, to ask you to forgive me, is the most selfish thing I will ever do in my life, but still I am doing just that, please forgive me, I miscalculated and never understood before, I still don’t understand how one person’s happiness and wellbeing and simply, their presence can alter the course of a life, my life. I don’t understand why I am so selfish, but I am the most selfish man you’ll ever know John; I chose to live a life away because your world would carry on without me, mine wouldn’t have carried on without you and that's what was a stake: a planet circling the sun without your warmth and caring and that John, is no place worth living in” Sherlock was overcome with emotion and he took a few seconds to compose himself as he realized that he was not only selfish but the most stupid man on the planet, how could he miss this all this time? How was it possible that he had been so oblivious to what his own heart was telling, no, scratch that, screaming at him. “I need a moment” he added, he needed to gather his thoughts, map a plan, plot for ways to be forgiven and most of all… welcome back.

John was now staring intently at Sherlock, John’s mind was racing, his hopes soaring; Sherlock was so close John could just stand, take 1, 2 steps, cup Sherlock’s face with his hands and, and, and…

“I love you, Sherlock” John didn’t hesitate, he need it to say it, OUT LOUD, for the world but most importantly for Sherlock to listen.

Sherlock opened his eyes in utter disbelief, looking at John like a child receiving his most desired gift on Christmas morning. He loved John too but the feeling was so new to him he was – perhaps for the first time – unable to find the words. Before Sherlock had a chance to speak, John continued, after all, John wasn’t sure that Sherlock cared about him in another way than as his best friend.

“I have thought endlessly about regrets and the effect fear has on us. How many assumptions we make on someone else’s behalf because we think we are doing the best for them? I never dared to speak these words out loud out of fear of rejection, Sherlock, and then you were gone and it didn’t matter anymore, every hope I had was taken away from me in a heartbeat and all I could do was witness life’s frailty. Your absence broke me, but it also woke me up, I want to love and be loved to and by you. I understand there is a possibility that you don’t feel the same and I will respect it if that is the case, but I will no longer hide what I feel, or myself, or anything. Gay or straight, in love or in lust, with a woman or a man will no longer be good enough reasons to risk wasting happiness or miss it altogether”

Sherlock was stunned at the sincerity of John’s words, what was there left to say? He can’t undo the last two years but he can rewrite the rest of his life and just as sure as he was when he faked his death and took a leap of faith into the unknown from the roof of St. Bart’s, he now took an even bigger, riskier and scarier fall. He closed the distance between him and John, sure of what he wanted but unsure on how to proceed with it. He raised his hands and placed one on John’s shoulder, lowered his face and slowly kissed his best friend, the love of his life.

“We danced around it long enough, John” Said Sherlock, breaking the kiss. “If felt more like if we were hiding” John replied, eyes closed and a tender, relieved smile on his face. ‘We couldn’t hide forever” added Sherlock.

Both men were speechless and wondering what the next step was…


	7. As we wine and dine...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. 
> 
> Chapter name stolen from Hamilton: An American musical.
> 
> Credit to my wonderful wonderful for the lovely quote in bolds. 
> 
> Next chapter is the one, you guys! (Cue sexy music)

Both men sat in John’s living room in silence but sitting side to side, their hands touching. Sherlock’s mind was racing, what is anyone supposed to do after a kiss like that? What do you do after declaring your love, your devotion?, wait, had he said those words? He remembered John saying specifically that he loved Sherlock, but has Sherlock said anything before that kiss?, “Oh no!” whispered Sherlock. “John, I…” said Sherlock before he was interrupted by John, “I have to get ready for work, lo… Sherlock”, “I understand” replied the younger man. 

 

John made a motion to stand and was closely followed by Sherlock. What was the deal with Sherlock, John asked himself as he was still closely followed by the detective. “Sherlock I really need to get ready for work”

 

Sherlock spun the doctor around and solemnly said “I’ll go but I need you to know… but only if you promise to meet me at Angelo’s tonight” Sherlock was not the only one with regrets about wasted time. John nodded and the detective left with a huge smile on his face.

 

John was too astound to say a word, and he just stayed there, in the middle of his sitting room. Happy? Yes. Terrified? Oh hell yes. John berated himself, “No more fear” reaching out for this phone and typed…

 

  
**_Is this a date?_** \- JW

 

  
**_Do you not want it to be?_** -SH

 

~~I don’t know…~~

~~Of course I want it to be~~

  
_**No, I do, I mean, I just, I don’t want to get my hopes up**  _\- JW

  
**_I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t hope, John._** -SH

 

  
**_7 pm. Don’t be late_ -** SH

 

John put his phone away and got ready for what he was sure was going to be a long day ahead of him or maybe a relatively short one in anticipation of their date. Date. It. was. a. date. John was suddenly felt like a bloody teenager but he was running late so he better hurry.

 

Sherlock walked back to Baker Street, he had only a few hours to prepare. He had never had a date, how can he prepare? Wait, did John expected to…? Oh bloody hell, what do people do in dates other than wine? dine? and… and… have sex? Sherlock certainly didn’t think this through

 

They were threading into unknown territory for both of them and each men spent the day thinking, sometimes out loud. John went home, took a long shower as we was convinced he smelled of disease and death. by 6.30 he was en route to Angelo’s.

 

Sherlock stopped dead on his tracks as he approached the restaurant and saw John already waiting for him. He was going to declare his love for John and take him on a full, proper date. 

 

“The game is on” Said Sherlock before stepping into the restaurant. Was he supposed to great John with a hug and a kiss? Just sit down? Next to him? In front of him? Jesus! This is more complicated than he ever anticipated. 

 

Instead, he placed his hand on John’s shoulder startling the Doctor, John smiled a shy smile an pointed out to the candlestick that sat in the middle of the table and both men laughed. It was perhaps, the first relaxed moment they have had since they saw each other again. They ate in relative peace and making small talk, avoiding certain subjects altogether.

 

“This s the more I’ve seen you eat, Sherlock”

“I had to force my transport to ingest more food if I wanted to survive, John”

 

John looked away and all humor and previous happiness disappearing from his face. This pained Sherlock more than the beatings he endured while dismantling Moriarty’s network. He couldn’t help but reach out and place his hands over John’s but nothing could have prepared him for the electricity he felt. He had touched John endless times and he had even kissed him just today but John’s vulnerability and Sherlock’s need to comfort him were a welcome surprise, a new, wonderful feeling that made the detective hyper aware. He wanted to touch John and recreate the feeling as much as possible. 

 

Running his thumb over the Doctor’s hand, Sherlock was being soothing to his friend. “John, nothing I could ever do will erase what I did to you, but it was all for you and I will never regret keeping you safe. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me because right here, right now, this is all I ever wanted. You.. you are all I ever wanted and I.. I… Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, why is it always so difficult to say things that will bring us happiness? People say hate words all the time yet, I love yous die before they are spoked billions of times a day. John was right, fear was a crippling feeling and despite all it costs us we still don’t learn and we continue to let it run our lives. 

 

“I love you, John, now that I understand it, I cannot think of a moment when i haven’t loved you, when I haven’t needed you but I didn’t know, still don’t know what it all means or what I am supposed to do. I cannot promise I will never put your well being over my own ever again, because I’d be lying and I do not want to lie to you anymore. Please give me a chance and I promise I will always do my best even when you think it is my worst. I love you, you love me, don’t force me to find out what it actually is to lose you.

 

“Sherlock, we cannot erase the last two years, and just like you, I can only promise to do my best but we need to take it one day, one emotion at the time. this is not only new for you, this is new for me. Not the I am in love with a man part, but this” -the doctor pointed to each of them -  **“this totality, this that is too big to be encompassed by just love.** This is new to me as well and too precious and important to take it lightly”

 

Now John had intertwined his hand in Sherlock’s and felt again the electricity he felt when Sherlock placed his hand on his. It was getting late and John had an early start the next day. EAs they stepped out of the restaurant they shared a hug and a very chaste kiss. Just a peck but it was enough to send shivers down their spines. 

 

“Can I see you tomorrow?” Asked Sherlock, his voice soaring, full of hope. He didn’t know what would be of him if John couldn’t or worst, if he said no. John took a step forward and delivered a second, more incendiary kiss, full of need to ease Sherlock’s doubts, after all, John had learned a thing or two about reading people. Sherlock was left speechless. He was full of want and need, surely this isn’t normal, is it? How do people, normal people do this and concentrate on other aspects of life? 

 

John smiled before jumping into a cab and promising to call - not text - letting him know when he got home to agree on the time. 

 

Sherlock arrived home to Baker Street, taking 2, 3 of the steps at the time. He couldn’t wait to kiss John again, to hold him and touch his hand and… and… so much, so much more. 

 

He heard the front door open and if the familiar footsteps where any indication, he didn’t actually have to wait until the next day...


	8. Close your eyes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay...
> 
> Life is a messy spider web.

Footsteps stopped abruptly outside Sherlock’s door. Could it be? What was John..? Was he supposed to open the door? That wouldn’t be necessary as he heard the knob turning and a very decided John stepped inside looking around until his eyes met Sherlock’s. Both men froze and in the second last seemed to last forever they made up their minds and close the distance between them stopping just mere inches from each other. What are they supposed to do now? John closed his eyes and in a moment everything he went through in the last two years rushed back to him; pain, solitude, the never ending ache. He had two choices, hold on to that or open his eyes and… and… finally find out or carry on.

 

Sherlock was confused by the look on John’s face. but the minute the Doctor opened his eyes he saw the tenderness and compassion John had always shown. Sherlock smiled, he was not in control of his feelings, of his body. The transport he was so neglectful of was suddenly in control and he didn’t mind it one bit. Love, particularly the kind you know will last forever does that to you, doesn’t it? It makes you think you can fly and become taller and braver and…

 

Sherlock felt John’s lips against his, crashing, invading, demanding. They were not the soft, hesitant still hurt lips he had tasted before, John Watson, HIS John Watson had found a way put aside his anger, the will have time to talk about everything and anything later, but right now, all either of them wanted to do -as far as Sherlock could tell- was to feel, not talk.

 

The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding and before the detective could tell, his calves reached the couch and John pushed him, making the detective sit before the Doctor sat on Sherlock’s lap and placing his legs to either side. John may be shorter, but he was in control of the taller man from above. John’s hands wouldn’t stay still and soon enough he was untucking Sherlock’s shirt and fumbling with the buttons. The detective froze and John soon noticed.

 

"Sherlock, I am sorry, I… I… forgot you - he cleared his throat - I forgot you have never done anything like it, for all I know you don’t even feel the need to..” Said John as he slowly rose from the detective’s lap. 

 

Sherlock held John’s arm before he was completely out of reach, pulling him back against him. “John, every time I am near you, I feel the need, I feel every need, to make you smile, to be the reason why you smile, to touch you and know why physical intimacy is so important to the whole world. When you are near there’s nothing i want more than to get under your clothes” John smiled and crashed his lips against Sherlock’s; “We can stop if you want to stop” added John. Sherlock didn’t reply but deepened the kiss.

 

John was still above the detective and wasn’t actually sure how to proceed, all hisself confidence was gone as he remembered that he was almost as inexperienced as Sherlock. John had never been with a man before, no matter how tempted he was during his Army days, he had managed to help himself because he was simply not attracted to men. All that was now a distant memory, he really, really wanted the man underneath him, he wanted Sherlock, he wanted to kiss him, to undress him and explore him. to watch him in all his vulnerability and be the reason why such a brilliant man came apart. John Watson, Army doctor, conductor of light, bravery personified, was suddenly scared and unsure of how to proceed.

 

Sherlock sensed John;s hesitation and he was now the one undoing John’s shirt buttons dexterously, hurriedly. John held Sherlock’s face in his hands and slide them a second lated to Sherlock’s neck, lading on his chest and he emulated the detective’s actions. John let his hand slip inside Sherlock’s shirt and felt a rush of energy going from his head to his groin. His skin was so soft, his chest so firm with enough muscle definition to be considered fit but not overly done. John let his hand slide further down, reaching for his belt and his eyes met the detective’s; his eyes full of need in a silent plea. Sherlock crashed his lips against John’s and in turn, undid John’s own belt. 

 

Sherlock mind was in a haze, this was all new to him and he was trying to catalogue everything, the look on John’s face, the wait John’s skin smelled, the rush of electricity when they touched, but hard as he tried, his transport had other ideas and he was unsuccessful on saving every detail, he was only able to feel, to react to the way John was kissing him and on what his own body was demanding of him right at this moment. If he was lucky, he’d have many more chances to save every second in his mind palace, right now, there was only sensation, no logic.

 

Both men were completely inexperienced each in their own ways: to men, to love and physical desire. 

 

As they undid each other’s belts, John got braver, and unzipped Sherlock and in a swift but nervous move his hand reached for his lover’s cock, it was hard already and warm, and velvety and John’s mouth watered; he was worried about not feeling right to touch him in this intimate way and he smiled to himself when he felt his desire growing just as his own cock. If John -and Sherlock - had any doubts about them being able to like touching each other, they evaporated the moment John started stroking Sherlock. Sherlock emulated John’s actions and began stroking him. John closed his eyes and bent his head backwards letting out a moan, a delicious, deep, longing moan. 

 

Sherlock used his free arm to bring John closer to him  and whispered to the Doctor’s ear “I want you to bury yourself deep inside of me”, startling John.John quickly stood up and pull the detective by the hand, he intended to do just what Sherlock had requested and he was not going to give in to the fear or hesitation he was still feeling, he was going to be buried deep inside his Detective even if it took the rest of the night to get him ready…

 

He didn’t even stopped or flinched as he opened the door to Sherlock’s bedroom, his fantasies had always taken place in there. He stopped, though, when he looked at the bed, how many nights after St. Bart’s had he spend here? Wrapped in Sherlock’s clothes and pillows? John closed his eyes and gulped, he needed to let all of that go and focus on the half naked man standing in from of him.

"Close yours eyes, Sherlock"...


	9. Open your eyes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot promise to post more than two chapters a week, but I was feeling inspired today.
> 
> If you are reading this, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, comment below. This is my first time writing smut and I really don't know if I am doing it right.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos!
> 
> L.

Sherlock closed his eyes and the Doctor closed the gap between the two of them.

 

John placed his hand in Sherlock’s nape, bringing his face closer and closer but also painfully slowly. John’s lips went from Sherlock’s own lips to his cheekbones - Oh! those cheekbones - to his jawline, to his earlobe, to his neck as John’s hands slide around Sherlock’s shoulder up his neck to find the detective’s messy curls and John tug on them making the detective moan in pleasure and anticipation of John’s kisses and a very primal need at the hair tugging. Apparently his Doctor liked it a little bit rough. 

 

Sherlock’s moan dissolved any doubt the doctor might still have about going too fast or if the detective would prefer something more tamed. John lips then went to Sherlock’s nipples and lapped on it, sending shivers all the way to his inexperienced lover’s body making his cock twitch. John was feeling even bolder and gently bit Sherlock’s nipple and the moan that followed should have been enough torture to stop, but no, he was going to make this a night to remember, he was going to make Sherlock come apart.

 

The detectives senses new in overdrive, how had he gone without anyone’s, no, John’s touch his whole life was a question that he would have to actually think about later; it was now clear to him why chemistry and biological processes were called love and lust, he was experiencing or about to experience one of, if not the best thing of what the human body had to offer. 

 

John repeated the tortuous ritual to the other nipple making Sherlock raise his hands to the Doctor’s shoulders, not to stop him but to hold on to something, afraid his shaky legs were about to betray him. John smiled to himself and whispered “Open your eyes and surrender yourself to me”

 

Sherlock nodded and John pulled the detective’s trousers down and in a swift move he did the same with his own and both men now laid in bed in only their underwear. John knew Sherlock was the most erotic and perfect creature he had ever seen, there was no point comparing him to a woman or even to a man, he was in his own league, he was simply and extraordinarily, Sherlock. Sherlock in turn, thought about the magnificent and caring man above him about to fuck him senseless. They were both lucky. 

 

John started pulling Sherlock’s underwear down and patted his bottom to make him raise them enough to slide them all the way down. As the detective’s boxers went down, so did John. 

 

Sherlock couldn’t believe the sight, John’s mischievous smile as he wrapped his hand around his cock. John winked at him and stick his tongue out and brought it millimeters away from his hard rod, Sherlock sighed and in a very inelegant moved pushed John’s head, John didn’t resist and was ready to swallow his friend whole, Sherlock was buried deep inside John’s mouth and it was so warm, so lush. John was loving having his mouth so full; Sherlock’s cock was hard as a rock and velvety , his oozing tip salty and perfect. Sherlock started bucking his hips against John’s mouth, harder and harder each time but then he stood still as he felt John’s finger pushing against his entrance. 

 

John didn’t stop his ministrations and carried on pushing his finger, slowly; twisting it inside just a little. Sherlock soon got used other sensation and he allowed himself to enjoy this and he began moaning softly.  John retrieved the finger and stoped his oral exploration and started using his hand instead to work the detective up. John licked his own finger and coated it in his own saliva, leaning down a little to spit on Sherlock’s bumhole and pushing his finger deeper inside.

 

Sherlock was holding to the bed sheets afraid that if he let go he was going to fall or worst, come and he didn’t want to disappoint his Doctor. 

 

“Don’t resist me, love” said John. “Let me put my finger all the way up un your arse, let my finger fuck you” he continued as he stroke Sherlock’s cock harder and harder making the tip ooze more and more precum.

 

John liked talking dirty...

 


	10. Are you ready now?...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry people. I ended up in the hospital and I had to recover and go to work and let myself be pampered by my wonderful boyfriend.
> 
> This is so short it cannot and shouldn't be called a chapter, but it is the best I could do all things considered. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> L.

John began to stroke Sherlock’s cock mercilessly. He needed to make him come, to bring him to total ecstasy; he needed to own him in the most primal of ways. 

 

Sherlock felt his whole body tense as John slowly and carefully re-introduced his finger. Sherlock was overwhelmed by the sensations and tried to relax but hard as he tried he couldn’t, he was too anxious and if he was honest, sort of scared. He wanted to let go, to be owned and above all, to give John everything he could ever want or need from him, but sex for the inexperienced is not easy, you are thinking and thinking and thinking. 

 

John sensed Sherlock’s hesitation and he wanted to help, he wanted his detective to feel comfortable and to enjoy what they were about to do. John slowed the movement of his finger and went back to kissing Sherlock and whispered sweet nothings to his ear. 

 

John spent a lot of time getting Sherlock ready and he not even once retrieved his finger. Sherlock was inching closer to orgasm and he began to buck his hips as John stroked his cock. 

 

“I am ready, John, I am ready” said the detective and that was all John needed to push his cock slowly but decidedly inside Sherlock’s ass. he was gentle but firm, greedy but willing to give his lover a good first time, something to remember with fondness and awkward as first times are. 

 

Sherlock took a few breaths to steady the rhythm of his heart and John understood his unspoken request and he stayed still. 

 

“God, you are so tight, love” Said John, which distracted Sherlock for a second, making him relax as they kissed tenderly. John thrusted slowly, barely moving his hips, but Sherlock felt it deep within and it made him moan, it was a mix of pain and a very unfamiliar pleasure. His whole body was in over drive, being invaded by the only person he would ever allow to come this close, this deep… 

 

John moved his hips more deliberately and he resumed kissing his lover, pushing his tongue deep inside, assaulting not only his ass but his mouth, leaving the detective unable to breathe...


End file.
